


A Poor Player (that struts and frets his hour)

by ItWasSomethingAbout



Series: and all our yesterdays have lighted fools [4]
Category: Fablehaven Series - Brandon Mull
Genre: Dragon Politics, Gen, Navarog struggles with his sales pitch, all my homies hate the giant queen, mention of cottg style slavery, not really graphic but there is some description of gore and violence, scheming murdery stuff, tagging it as graphic violence just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItWasSomethingAbout/pseuds/ItWasSomethingAbout
Summary: Prince Vaergahl was one of Titan Valley’s lucky few, safely squirreled away from the giants whilst his people were enslaved. If Navarog wasn’t in hiding as well, he might’ve been tempted to call him a coward. He might be tempted to say there was a difference between a cozy prince and an opportunistic rogue anyways, but, then again, it would be hard to sell that distinction with a four step plan like his. Though, today that was firmly beside the point. Navarog was no coward. And he wasn’t weak either. Vaerghal was both.
Series: and all our yesterdays have lighted fools [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709872
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	A Poor Player (that struts and frets his hour)

Prince Vaergahl was one of Titan Valley’s lucky few, safely squirreled away from the giants whilst his people were enslaved. If Navarog wasn’t in hiding as well, he might’ve been tempted to call him a coward. He might be tempted to say there was a difference between a cozy prince and an opportunistic rogue anyways, but, then again, it would be hard to sell that distinction with a four step plan like his. Though, today that was firmly beside the point. Navarog was no coward. And he wasn’t weak either. Vaerghal was both.

Navarog was relieved when he was finally able, out of the giant’s way, to shift into his dragon form, the result of a three day journey on foot. Taking off with a flap of his wings, he rose above the crowded trees. Navarog blurred past the sharp tree points as they began to thin into a vast meadow, which sped into a valley surrounded by craggy peaks. And then, off to the valley’s side, where a stream ate through a flowering field, a group of mountains clustered themselves into a spiked crown, their tops cutting up the clouds. Tall enough to conceal whatever it encircles from any without wings of their own. He veered towards them, twirling to avoid flattening himself on the rock faces. 

He landed with a flourish in the gathering of rogue dragons, a party to the usual draconic diversity. As per the usual rule, most of the dragons present were reptilian in appearance, with a few exceptions, which included a slimy amphibious dragon and one who seemed almost like she had porcupine quills. Vaerghal was rumored to have inherited Celebrant’s infamous adamant scales, nigh indestructible, though looking at him, he had less of the steel color of his father, almost glowing with his mother’s snow white. He was smaller than him, his head a car to Navarog’s bus. The prince seemed startled at first by the intrusion, but it passed quickly, stalking towards him.

Vaerghal tossed his head, rumbling, “Navarog. I could’ve sworn you were dead. Something about my half-brother, even.”

Navarog bared his teeth in a saccharine smile. “Obviously not.”

Vaerghal hummed in a chorus of voices. “No, it would seem not. What are you doing here?”

“Just checking out your hiding place. Wondering if I might like it for myself maybe?”

If dragons gasped, - and Navarog wasn’t quite sure they did - he’s sure that would’ve been the moment for it. As it was, he was satisfied with the hackles raised. The porcupine-looking dragon tensed up as though she had goosebumps, standing her quills on their end. Vaerghal stilled completely. 

“Are you challenging me? Need I remind you again, you couldn’t even best my petite baby brother?”

“I was distracted. And now,” Navarog drawled, dragging his chorus of voices forward, “don’t you see that I have to kill you, with all your measly council as witness. How else am I to be taken seriously again?”

With that, Vaerghal charged at him, unfurling his jaw in an eruption of fury and fire. Navarog met the prince with a pounce of his own, plunging right into the line of fire. The flames rippled across his scales harmlessly. There was heat, but no real pain, and certainly Navarog was not incinerated. 

“Really? As if I could be undone by the single most common breath weapon.” 

Vaerghal only growled in answer. His belly began to expand again, gleaming like white coals. He let loose nothing, though, before Navarog barrelled him onto his back. Pinning him, Navarog made a swipe at the prince’s underbelly but rended no flesh, his claws glancing off the rumored impenetrable plating. The prince lunged upward, trying to knock Navarog off of him, only to be slammed back into the rocky ground. Humming, Navarog clamped down on Vaeghal’s neck, not quite able to sink his teeth into much of anything, quite yet. Belly full of ink, pure darkness poured out of his maw, melting the scales right off Vaerghal’s neck as he squealed. Navarog grinned before chomping and tearing at the skin beneath. No amount of writhing could save the prince now. In little to no time, all that connected his head and body was a sickly speckled column of bone.

Finished, Navarog raised himself from his meal to look at the gathering of dragons watching on, wary but passive. “Well?” he asked, blood dripping from his chin, glinting all the way up his maw to his nostrils. 

A dragon with scales like bark cleared their throat. “What exactly was the point of all that?” 

The amphibious dragon nodded towards them, but began posturing all the same. “I’m afraid if you really want our hideout, you’ll have to kill much more than just him for it.” He spoke in slithering echoes of himself, baring rotting teeth coated in saliva.

“I’m not going to just take your hideout from you, no,” Navarog huffed. “Personally, I’d prefer if we just did away with the hideouts altogether, really.”

“Oh, really,” the quilled dragon spoke sardonically, “and where have you been with that stunning insight all these years?”

“You know. Dead, imprisoned, plotting overthrows, et cetera.”

“We are all imprisoned. Be happy you are not enslaved with the rest of our kind here,” she scoffed.

Navarog clicked his forked tongue. “You know, I’m not sure I was really built for contentment. I’m too greedy for all that. It’s not enough to evade the giant queen. I’d much rather be free of her entirely.” 

“Are you not already free of her?” she hissed. “Were you not perfectly free to ramble where you pleased, without a thought for any of us? Was your stunt of imprisonment not a duration of centuries in stark contrast with our many? Did you not use your freedom to guide humans to our sacred temple, to steal from us, to kill us, as you have just killed our Prince.” 

“More or less. But really, he isn’t much of a prince. Or wasn’t, I should say.”

“Then what was the point of killing him?” she exclaimed. 

“To gain an audience, to gain allegiance, and to send a message, in that order.”

The quilled dragon looked like she had several things to say to that, and her amphibious friend like he had several things to add, but they were halted by their companions' quiet query, their words coming out almost in a series of croaks. “Well, you have your audience, but that is all. You can’t imagine he had any real position to inherit. We did not respect him, we do not respect you. He was weak, and so killing him proves nothing, it sends no message, and we do not respect you for it.” 

Navarog sighed. “Fine. I’ll cut to the chase. The giant queen has reigned too long. She has enslaved our kin and driven the rest of us into hiding, like scattering cockroaches. Vaerghal failed you when he let that pass, and ran away into the mountains as if he owed his people nothing. As though he -

“We’ve been over all this!” 

Navarog snapped his red teeth at the slimy upstart, half tempted to make a lunge at him too. Who was he to interrupt him? And the others, too. Ridiculous. He killed their prince, and they think they get to talk to him like this. If he really passed so unrespected, why hadn’t they killed the bastard themselves. And yet he still needed them. So he collected himself, taking a deep steamy breath. “As I was saying. As if he wanted the rewards of being your leader without any of the responsibility. I have no intention of running away. As far as I can see, I have won myself leadership, regardless of the slightness of my honor in seizing it. I have a responsibility to you, and I’m going to fulfill it. I have a plan, but I’ll need your help.”

“What sort of plan?” The tree dragon asked as they exchanged a glance with their companions. 

“I was starting to think you lot would never ask. We’re going to Humburgh, in human form mind you. We’ll likely never get to the giant queen otherwise. And I think we ought to start by cutting the head off the snake, so to speak. Should destabilize them, at least. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> sighhh I apologize for all the "the quilled dragon" "the amphibious dragon." It didn't feel natural to pause to ask them for their names, so alas. We all must suffer. So we're finally getting into the plot stuff. Weeeee


End file.
